


Pictures At An Exhibition II

by Cerdic519



Category: Pictures At An Exhibition, Supernatural
Genre: Art, Artist Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Football Player Dean, M/M, Pictures At An Exhibition - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7308598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is five years since Dean Winchester left town to become a star football player, and his life has been a success story all round. Except that the friend he left behind, Castiel Novak – well, Dean has always wondered if the two of them might have made a go of things after all. A display of Castiel's artwork brings him back to town, and a journey down Memory Lane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pictures At An Exhibition II

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyndsie_l](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyndsie_l/gifts).



> Inspired by Russian composer Modest Mussorgsky's (honest, that was his name!) composition of a ten-piece suite to accompany an exhibition put on by his friend Viktor Hartmann. Since the sixth piece covered two paintings there were eleven in total, of which today we only know six.   
> For lynsdie_l in gratitude for the wonderful You're The Only Stranger I Need.

Prologue

“Well?” his mother said impatiently.

Dean scratched his head.

“Don't know if I wanna go”, he said, reddening slightly. “I mean, it's been years,”

“Castiel invited us all”, Mary said firmly. “I can understand you might not want to see him after what you did....”

“Mom!” Dean was sure he was glowing bright red. He was twenty-three years old dammit, but when she used that tone he dropped at least ten of those years.

“But he invited us all”, his mother continued. “I am going, so he will notice that you were too scared to face up to him after....”

“Fine!” Dean groused. “I'll go. When is it?”

+~+~+

His mother was mean, Dean decided. She knew full well why he and Cas had broken up five years back, when Dean was on his way to becoming a top football player and Cas was... well, happy with his flowers and his bees. Dean could never understand that lack of ambition. Besides, Cas had been okay with him going, hadn't he?

Yeah, he would go to the damn exhibition, and try to avoid running into what his moose of a brother gushed was one of the greatest modern artists in the United States, possibly even the world. If Sammy hadn't been married to the firecracker Sarah Blake, Dean would have thought him the gay one. Yeah, he would go. What could possibly happen to him in a room full of dumb art?

FLW.

+~+~+

They were playing some sort of classical crap when he and his mother arrived at the exhibition, and Mary immediately ran into Bobby and Ellen, which meant gossip central for her. 

“Let's get this over with”, he muttered to himself. It was a bit funny that the place was set out with huge arrows leading people round, and that the music – classical, ugh! - was playing so softly that he could barely hear it above the chatter of people. He looked up at the huge banner above the entrance.

“'Pictures At An Exhibition II'”, he read aloud. “Huh. Sequels are never as good as the original.”

“Might be in this case”, said a familiar voice from behind him. Dean swore silently to himself before turning round.

“What are you doing here, Chuck?” he asked. “And what do you mean?”

“I'm a guide”, the librarian explained, pointing to his badge with 'Guide' in big letters. “The music you can hear was composed in 1874 by Mussorgsky for a set of paintings, and Castiel has put his own interpretation on each of them. You hear the music for each picture only in its vicinity, and in between you can hear the music he composed for the promenade between them.”

“No classic rock, then”, Dean said wryly. “Well, I suppose I had better get on with it. Thanks, Chuck.”

+~+~+

01: The Gnome

The first picture was.... unusual. A familiar-looking man being strangled by someone standing behind the viewer (or possibly the viewer), his face turning purple as he struggled for breath. The hands around the man's neck came from arms bearing a familiar leather jacket – one Dean was wearing right now. And a restraining arm was on one of the leather-clad arms, in a jumper that was... colorful. 

Dean remembered. He had to have been about twelve at the time, and the little oik who he had had damn good cause to throttle the hell out of was none other than Cas' irritating brother Gabriel, who had played one trick too many on his brother. Cas had had an allergic reaction to being doused in some liquid or other and had had to be taken to hospital, and Dean had been furious with the gnome. 

He caught sight of the painting's title, and smiled. Very true. He had nearly lost Cas, the boy he l......

Blinking hard, he hurried onto the next painting.

+~+~+

02: The Old Castle

The second painting was an abandoned house, one Dean knew well. When he and Cas had been thirteen they had stumbled across the place, seemingly forgotten by its owners, and Dean had called it Castiel's Castle. They had taken food there, read together there, just hung out there....

And kissed there. The first time Dean Winchester had ever kissed a man.

To his shame he had run away immediately afterwards, and had not spoken to Cas for two whole weeks. When he had, he had immediately made it clear that the kiss Had Not Happened, and he wanted to never discuss it again. Cas, his angel, had complied, though their friendship had been strained for some weeks afterwards.

For the first time since then, it struck Dean that maybe he had been rather cruel to his friend. Shaking himself, he moved onto the next picture.

+~+~+

03: Tuileries

It was a park in autumn. Two young men sat with their backs to the artist, their benches slightly angled so they could see each other. 

The one on the left was wearing a very familiar trench-coat. Dean managed a small smile, though it faded as he recalled the scene before him. It had been not that long after the Kiss, and Cas had looked so terribly upset by his reaction that..... hell, how did anyone resist that face? Dean had intended to stay mad at him for a good while, but that hurt puppy look – seriously, he could give lessons to Sammy – was irresistible.

Dean's friends laughingly called him the King of Denial, and Lord had he tried. But he had never quite shaken off the small voice at the back of his mind that told him that whilst kissing guys in general was triple euw, kissing Cas had been... kinda nice. After the scene before him he had moved across and wrapped his arm round his friend – hey, it was a cold day – and Cas had melted into him with a happy sigh that had made Dean's heart ache.

Looking back, he thought to himself that that was quite possibly he moment he knew that he was, as Charlie so weirdly put it, 'Cas-sexual'.

He walks slowly onward.

+~+~+

04: Cattle

Dean blushed when he reached the fourth painting. Damn Cas and his memory!

The two boys had had a spot that was just within walking distance, on a hill overlooking the town. Dean remembered that whilst on one side you could look down to a busy town and the freeway running past it, they only had to go a few steps to look over a huge farm. That was the scene that Cas had painted here, field after field of gold and green the only movement being a small horse-drawn cart rumbling by in the foreground. It had basically been him and Cas, alone. He smiled at the untimely memory he had had back then that, had Cas wanted to, he could have killed Dean and buried the body there, and no-one would have been any the wiser. 

It was odd when he came to think about it, because Dean was and had been then a man of action. Yet when he was with Cas, sitting there watching the world go quietly by had been.... nice.

He walked on.

+~+~+

05: The Ballet of Unhatched Chicks in their Shells

Now this was weird. A nest with four eggs in it. Dean didn't get it.

Then he looked closer. In faint markings inside each egg there were barely discernible drawings. One showed what was clearly a wedding or engagement ring, a second was all hearts and flowers, and a third was a football shirt with... yes, Dean's old number on it. He blushed.

The last egg seemed to have a faint number 8 in it. Dean didn't get that at first until he remembered something Cas had told him; on its side it represented infinity because Cas would always be there for him. Dean of course was a strong, independent young man who did not need anyone to lean on, thank you very much.

He looked closer. Sticking out behind the nest was a history book, entitled 'Up De Nile'. He scowled, and moved on.

+~+~+

06: Samuel Goldenberg and Schmuyle

Two paintings side by side, and Dean spotted immediately that they were of the same scene from his life. It was when his team had won the deciding match against their hated local rivals, and he had made the winning play. His teammates had carried him off the pitch hoisted high on their shoulders, and the local paper had made it their front page spread afterwards.

The second picture next to it showed most of the crowd celebrating, except for one guy sat on his own. Unmistakably Cas; no-one had hair that bad, and he still had that goddam trench-coat. He looked almost wistful, as if he was watching something being taken away from him. The only odd thing was a flash of color from something sticking out of his pocket, and it took Dean some little time to work out what it was.

His old scarf, the one had loaned to Cas when he was cold some years back. Cas still had it. 

It is dusty in the gallery hereabouts, which is why Dean has to wipe his eyes. Nothing at all to do with the memory of Cas afterwards telling him with his usual foresight that Dean was moving onto greater things. For possibly the first time in his life, Dean wonders if those 'greater things' were actually worth losing Cas over. 

He walks on.

+~+~+

07: The Market At Limoges

It had been the week before he was due to leave town and join his first really large team, and Cas had wanted to go to the Farmers' Market. Dean remembered how he had fallen about laughing, asking his friend if he could honestly picture him, Dean Winchester, at a Farmers' Market.

Cas had just looked at him. They had gone to the Farmers' Market.

Dean had to look at the picture for only a little time before he spotted it. Two men over by the honey stall, standing well inside each others' personal space if not holding hands. The shorter one was wearing a scruffy trench-coat – he always wondered if Cas somehow bred the things; he had so many – and the taller had a leather jacket. There was nothing to make them stand out, yet something in the painting drew Dean's eyes back to them.

The week after they had gone, Dean had left for his new team. At the time, it had seen the only thing to do. Now, as he remembered Cas' weak smile as he had said goodbye and wished him well, he wondered.....

He walked on.

+~+~+

08: Catacombs

Dean blushed fiercely as he came up to the next painting. Someone had a damn big gob!

It had been the end of a successful first season for Dean, and he had gone with several of his team-mates to a local restaurant, called The Catacombs. Set in a series of arches under an old railway viaduct, the place certainly had atmosphere, but Dean would always remember it for the feeling of complete mortification he had experienced there.

Towards the end of the meal he had gone to use the restroom, and coming back had spotted a familiar figure in an even more familiar trench-coat sat at a table on his own. Cas! What the hell was he doing here, hundreds of miles from their home town? So Dean, being Dean, had come up behind the guy and kissed him lightly on the head before whispering 'hi, honey'.

That had been the precise moment when a) a woman had arrived and stared incredulously at him as she sat down opposite the man, and b), Dean had realized that this was not Cas. He had fled the restaurant, but of course one of his soon to be ex-buddies had seen the whole thing, and he had been ragged mercilessly about it for weeks afterwards. 

He walked quickly onward.

+~+~+

09: The Hut On Fowl's Legs

Two years on, and Dean had returned in triumph to his home town, his team having won the title twice in succession. Not exactly ticker-tape and a parade, but an article in the local paper and the gentle teasing of his friends had made him glad to be home. The only thing missing had been Cas, who had scored a scholarship to some art college and would not be back for another week.

Dean had finally run into his old friend at the children's playground of all places, which he had been cutting across on his way home. There, sat on the Wobbly Hut – a small playhouse on large metal springs – was Cas, just as he had been years before when they had played together as ankle-biters. 

Dean remembered that it must have been windy that day on the playground, because his eyes had been watering. He felt not a little embarrassed that he had just shaken his old friend's hand like they had been businessmen meeting or something. The look of disappointment on that cute face still hurt. They had sat together like two people barely acquainted with each other, and Dean had so wanted to wrap his arm around Cas and....

He walked on to the last painting.

+~+~+

10: The Great Gate Of Kiev

Now this was weird. It was one of those paintings that was split down the middle, one picture with two themes. The guy in the exact center in a defensive posture was very clearly Dean, but on the left half he was a soldier standing guard in front of a medieval city gate and on the right he was a football player in front of the posts and end-zone. 

He looked closer. In the sentry-box on the left of the picture there was a familiar item, neatly folded up, on the bench. Dean paled. Cas – he couldn't have known – could he?

“I wondered where that coat had gone”, came a familiar growl from behind him. “An exchange for the scarf?”

Dean turned slowly to see that familiar blue stare, complete with head-tilt – god, the man had gotten even more cute over the years! He was sure his blush deepened even more, but he just went for it.

“You left it behind at my place one time, and it got lost”, he said simply. “When I left town, I.... took it with me.”

“Why?” Cas asked at once.

“'Cause I wanted part of you with me”, Dean said quietly, staring hard at the floor which was being decidedly unobliging in not opening up and swallowing him whole.

“But you could have had all of me”, Cas said. “All you had to do was ask, Dean.”

The taller man raised his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I'm asking now”, he said gruffly. “Wanna go on a date?”

“So romantic!” Cas teased, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. “Well, I suppose I might see if I can fit you into my busy.... ooof!”

The rest of the sentence was lost as Dean Winchester took Castiel Novak into his arms and kissed the living daylights out of him. Unheard by either of them, the main theme to 'The Great Gate Of Kiev' sounded out its fortissimo refrain, as the football player finally made a golden play.


End file.
